


Find Your Place

by ShatrisLerran



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, after last post-credit scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatrisLerran/pseuds/ShatrisLerran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky meets a stranger and has a short conversation near dumpsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Your Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monicawoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/gifts).



> Many thanks to my friends [BlackRook](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackRook/pseuds/BlackRook) and [monicawoe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe) for beta-reading and corrections!

The pain rose inside his head like a wave of fire. The next wave was cold and heavy like ice, it threw him from working mode to an unstable, vulnerable state. He needed some time to wait out the waves . He needed some place to hide for a while.

He turned from the street he was walking on to the small gap between the houses. There were several trash cans; he could use them as a shelter. He slid down the wall and wearily put his head on his knees. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, when, through the hum of pain in his head he heard slow, scuffling steps, the creak of little wheels, and a hoarse old voice saying,“Hey, man, c’mon, get out of my spot!” 

He raised his head very slowly - waves of pain pounded against the inside his skull one after the other. But he didn't feel any danger from the voice’s owner despite the words. 

An old homeless man stood right before him, clinging to the truck full of trash. “Get out! Now! This is my spot, mine! Has been for ten years. Go, find your own!”

He could answer. He could stand up and strangle the old fool in two seconds. But he allowed himself not to move and not to hurt anyone. The old man suddenly shut up and asked quietly:  
“Maybe you need something… Then go to Fat Harry, go, he can give anything you need.” and continued louder:”Go, go!”

He didn’t move.  
Realization dawned on the old man's face. He chewed on something and asked,“Hey, dude, what’s your name?”

Now, after his visit to the Smithsonian exhibition, the question had an answer. Another wave of pain hit, and it carried with it a voice that screamed inside his head, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes!” He took a breath, and answered, “James.”

“Ok, Jimmy, get out of here, or I…”

He put his head back on his knees, ignoring the old man, and rocked as the waves rode through him.

When the pain had finally subsided, he noticed that the old man was still mumbling something. Something strange. “Jimmy-Jimmy-genie"

“Genie?" he repeated aloud.

“Man, you’ve never heard of genie?”

He still couldn’t shake his head, so he just responded shortly: “No.”

“Genie is a mighty spirit, man. He was stuck in the bottle - for hundreds of years. And after nobody came for a long-long time, he promised himself he'd kill the first man who freed him. Do you know why?”

He just repeated,”No.”

“‘Cause he’d gotten used to being in his bottle. All of us love our bottles...” The old man rummaged in the truck. “Wanna drink, Jimmy-genie?”

He hesitated for a second. He could say “no” again but something stopped him. “Okay,” he said raising his head from the knees.

“Good boy.” The old man gave him a half-empty bottle with an unreadable sticker on it. “Take it and get your ass out of my place! I’m tired of standing here, dude. Fuck off now.”

Liquor slid down his throat like liquid fire . He slowly heaved himself up the wall and tried to move. The old man prudently stepped out of his way. Passing by the truck, he put the present back in the trash and said, “Thanks.” 

He almost reached the turn when he heard, “Find your own place, genie. And don’t go back to your bottle.”

“I can’t go back,” he muttered to himself. “My bottle’s broken.” He kept moving down the street. 

No one paid any attention to him. Maybe he would be able to find his own place someday.  
After he found all the other places—the ones where they strapped him down, where lightning scalded his mind and his thoughts were scrubbed clean. He’d already remembered some of them, and he'd find all the others, and destroy them. All. 

After that, he could find something of his own.


End file.
